Muscle Branch
Addam favors a boisterous democracy in their traveling troupe, when he can manage it - and oh, what a rowdy manage it is.
While he is nominally the leader, in terms of knowledge of the world-scale quest and surrounding environmental (that is to say, geopolitical) factors, Lora carries much of the core impetus, by dint of her spirited personality, and she relies directly and heavily upon Jin, with occasional input from Haze, while Mythra gawks on the side and balks at strange marching orders.
They're not marching orders, is the thing, so much as "someone has to say where to next, so it'll be me, right then," but what can a poor pauperish prince do?
So he makes sure to incorporate everyone's input, or take a judicious bent toward delegation, inasmuch as he expects that that will be summarily well received.
Hugo is certainly content with this arrangement, as are Aegaeon and Brighid in his retainer, and if the boys complain, they know they'll have a kind rendition of "Well now, what would you have us do?" coming palm-kneed or hand-hipped their way in short order.
But then there's Minoth. Minoth, who comes from his own world where people told him, vaguely, that it's his life, and they can't tell him what to do, but some other people did, anyway, and it can't be undone, but can it, in fact, ever be capitalized upon?
Minoth, who wears strength like a cape, at times, but forgets to flourish it, because sometimes it truly isn't necessary; the lack of flourish is demonstration enough and itself.
Minoth, who keeps himself in fine presented order at all times even if the actual reality underneath is a man sewing himself together by his sinews, as he's learned will work.
Minoth, who makes so many small decisions Addam simply boggles at the determination. If he's swung his hand in for something, that's that, and being so convinced and convicted is what enables him to get things done in an admirable order. There's a task put on for later? Don't say later, say in one half hour, at 12:17, and by 12:18, it's done.
Say Mireille asks him for three counts of ingredients: this, that, and this or that. Rather than dawdling about and hedging, "Oh, well, we're sure to find one of those first, and whichever comes along as we help the next citizen in line, we'll just go with that (or this)," Minoth states definitively, "I've been wanting some Flashstone myself. Let's go with that. Be back soon."
It's not that there's no rationale to it, nor that said rationale is overengineered. Minoth is just a stag for commitment. It's no question about whether they'll find the Flashstone, either. They will, point blank. Because Minoth set his mind upon it.
Again, the efficiency is admirable. But in general, it's not as if Addam would market Minoth as the determined darling of all Torna, good for whatever ails you because he's an ironsteel mind. He's found a system that works, is all.
That's just Minoth. It always has been.
(And isn't that constance just something of a glorious marvel? To think that Minoth always has been, always will be, and Addam's known him about it, to boot.)
Taking a step back, Addam realizes that his aforethought principle of "someone has to make a decision, so let's have me" is not really all that far off from Minoth's personal mode that mystifies him so, but the prince is, as also aforementioned, more towards a people-pleaser than not, so he'll spend more time dawdling, if there's a chance he'll come off as overbearing or even overruling. Minoth, ace that he is, wastes minimal time on apology, too. "Just to put the idea out there," he says, if not archly then certainly with arched brow. And once it's out, it's in. Simple as that.
That's the bit he brings about a street preacher, isn't it? A man like Minoth could convince anyone of anything, if he wanted, with enough active listening cues and universal charm built handily in.
Can charisma be an algorithm for the day-to-day? Well. Maybe for some.
Not a man like Minoth. Only the man himself.
"Alright, Minoth. Tell us where we're off to."
Addam's decided (haha, yes!) to spring this request upon his friend only very lately, and hasn't balanced it with any particular variety of responsibility in the lead-up. They'd just been quietly gathering appeal as usual, and moving along in stride.
This, this putting Minoth on the spot, is new.
And Minoth, as Addam had expected, bucks, a little bit.
"I thought you were the world leader," he says, wry, arms drawn up and leg splayed out. "Asking a poor old Flesh Eater to guide your cause? Are we that low, now?"
Addam fixes his friend with a look. If it's got to be sour, well, it's got to be sour, but it doesn't got to be, unless Minoth has decided it so.
Minoth clears his throat, not a trace guiltily. "I'm up for whatever, Prince, but if you're fielding suggestions, I say we check the Ulcer for infestation, since we won't be back that way again."
"We won't?"
"Won't we?" echoes Minoth, meaning "will we" but being far more musical and clever about it.
"Come on, come on," Mythra interrupts before Addam can give his heartiest smile and say, I love that thing you do, and set Minoth on a path to being truly sour, because after all this time he's still so bad with genuine compliments. "How come you're asking him, actually?"
"He doesn't complain," says Addam wisely, sagely. "He doesn't waffle."
Minoth's minute straightening isn't meant to be caught, but Addam catches it.
Mythra snorts. "I think he's just funny in the head, but okay. Keep your secrets."
"No secret." Minoth starts walking. Maybe he already had been, actually. "Let's get a move on, kid."
The others, content with the sheer sensemaking of it all, are swift to follow.